


Help Wanted

by nightfalltwen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/pseuds/nightfalltwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unlikely partnership is formed when an ad to volunteer for the Devon Daisies Little League Quidditch Team is finally answered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2014 hprarefest on livejournal. Prompt #98 by **dormiensa** \- _She was always told that kindness meant "soft and weak". He proves the idea so very, very wrong._
> 
> I like the idea of Millicent getting love or at least very strong, unusual friendship, so this prompt intrigued me. Thank you for leaving it. :) I hope this fic lives up to the spirit of the prompt at least because I'm sure it might deviate a little. Little league Quidditch idea came from a post that flew past my dash on tumblr. I claim no ownership other than running with the idea.

*@*@*

**Spring 2005**

Walter looked at the poster in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies a second time as he picked up the broom display, moving it to another counter. The advertisement had been there since the winter. The edges of the paper were now starting to curl and every so often he thought that maybe he might take it down so that he could put up the new promotional photos for the Harpies. Fit girls always tended to bring the boys into the shop.

But who could say no to the request? Especially considering the person who'd made it.

Walter'd give it a few more weeks. If no one had inquired after the little league team by the start date, he'd take it down.

_Help Wanted: Witch or wizard to help on a volunteer basis with the Devon Daisies._  
_Must be Quidditch enthusiast._  
_Rewarding experience provided._  
_References given at end of season for further career pursuits._

_Saturdays._  
**_Wimbourne Wasps practice field_**  
_Starting 1st of May._

Picking picking up the duster and the mop, he carried it to the back room, tossing both into the cupboard where they belonged. The bell above the door jangled, but when he came back out into the main part of the store, there was no one. Walter shrugged and went back to the broom display, putting out the new signage for the upcoming Nimbus model. He glanced at the window, stopping.

The poster was gone.

*@*@*

"Mister Neville! Mister Neville!"

Neville turned at the tiny voice and the tugging on his robe. He smiled and crouched down to be at the same level as the little girl who was talking to him. She held out her arm, one lace of her leather grieve was longer than the other and not in the least bit tied up. Neville had to stifle a chuckle. Seven year old Izzy had nearly always had issues with her practice uniform last year and it looked like it was going to be the same again this year. He took out his wand and waved it over her arm. The laces tightened themselves and looped into bows.

"There. Now can you do me a very important favour?" Neville asked. Izzy's head bobbed, her curly brown pigtails bouncing; she flashed him a smile, her tongue poking through the hole left behind by her lost tooth. "Go tell the other girls they need to line up. We're going to practice quaffle passing."

The little girl dashed off and Neville went over to the equipment box to get the quaffle.

There once was a time when Neville thought he'd do something else. Playing quidditch for the house team had never been something he'd really tried out for. He understood the rules. He understood the plays, but he'd never mastered broom maneuvers. So his feet had always stayed firmly on the ground (not counting a flight to the Ministry on the back of a thestral when he was fifteen, but that was another story all together and one he didn't usually regale).

He rather liked it that way if he was fairly honest.

But then his gran had passed on. With his finances pretty much set and expectations of him at a low, Neville felt free to choose. Some people thought he ought to go into Ministry work. He'd killed a ruddy, great snake with a sword. There had to be an auror in him somewhere. Neville had, however, declined the offer. He didn't want to follow in his parents' footsteps. He'd also declined the position of Herbology professor at Hogwarts. His plant knowledge was at the level of Hermione Granger, but more years at Hogwarts seemed daunting.

The Little League Quidditch Team Program started as a bit of a joke. He'd been having lunch with Harry, Ron, Seamus and Dean, the five of them reminiscing about school. The good times at least.

Harry had mentioned something about the quidditch teams at Hogwarts having an influx of kids who didn't know enough about the sport. They'd laughed at the idea of having kids learn it before entering school.

It was an idea that just never left Neville's head.

Hermione had helped him. She'd helped with the charms on the practice bludgers, making them soft instead of hard, but just as erratic. She'd also come up with a way to enlarge the snitch to the size of a grapefruit, getting it to fly low and slow so the children could catch it with relative ease.

And for three years, this is what Neville had been invested in. Practices for the little league were held on all the professional fields around the countries. Neville's team, for the last two years, only had young girls, so they'd easily become the Daisies.

"You still need a volunteer?"

Neville jumped at the sudden voice, not having noticed another person coming onto the pitch. He turned and blinked in surprise at the person standing behind him. For a long moment, he was completely tongue tied. He'd put up volunteer posters ages ago that no one answered and he'd given up hope that anyone would be interested. Young witches and wizards wanted paying jobs. They didn't want to give up their free time to wrangle small children, which was often like herding cats.

"I… uh…" Neville felt bad for gaping, but of all the people to show up on the practice field, Millicent Bulstrode had not even been close to being on the list.

A frown crossed her face, pink spots appearing on her cheeks, obviously embarrassed. "You know what, never mind. It was stupid to come out here. Forget it."

Without thinking, Neville reached out a hand, caught her arm and he felt her flinch. Immediately he let go, holding up his hands, half expecting her to take a swing at him. Millicent had been one of those rather thuggish girls at Hogwarts, following Pansy Parkinson around. His memories of her were mostly vague though as he tried to not get in the way of most of the Slytherins for the most part and when he couldn't stay out of their way, it wasn't usually the girls that he'd had issues with.

Behind him the girls were squealing and he turned briefly to make sure they were alright, but it was just an impromptu game of tag.

He looked back at Millicent standing there with a dour expression, hair pulled back in a severe ponytail and looking like she was expecting him to tell her to bugger off. Neville decided right then and there that the girls he was coaching wouldn't have any preconceived notions about Millicent, so he was going to just let the past stay in the past. He offered a smile. "We're just about to start. You came all the way out here and to answer your question, yes. I am still looking for someone to help out. Stay for a practice and then decide whether or not you want to come back?"

She stood there for what felt like a very long time, not saying a word, and just before the silence got too uncomfortable she nodded.

"Brilliant!" Neville didn't wait for her to speak. He turned and walked over to the group of girls. Holding the quaffle. "Daisies! We've got someone joining us today. This is Millicent Bulstrode, someone I knew from Hogwarts, and she's going to help today. If you're good, maybe she'll help all the time."

He held out the quaffle to Izzy, telling her to show the girls how to do figure eight passes like from last year and they were off. Perhaps it wasn't as structured as it could have been and there were a lot of dropped passes and confusion, but all Neville really cared about was the laughing. Of which there was lots. And squealing. And a little bit of whistle blowing when the girls got too far off to the other side of the pitch. Millicent didn't speak much. She'd pass back the ball when it came to her, but for the most part she kept quiet.

When it was over and the last girl was picked up, Neville began gathering the little orange cones he'd been using to mark out a simple Chaser play. "You don't have to stick around," he said lightly. "Working with kids isn't really everyone's cuppa. I appreciate you staying through the whole thing though. They can be a big challenge on the first day..."

"Why girls?" she asked suddenly. It was the first time she'd spoken since they'd started the practice.

Neville shrugged. "Why not? The first year we only had teams of boys. Last year I had my first girls sign up and so we made a separate team for them. Kind of like the Harpies, only a little less aggressive. They love it. We need more teams like the Harpies."

"You don't worry about them not making the house team?"

Neville shook his head. "No we talk about that a lot. About how they have to try out just the same as everyone else and even if they don't make the team, there are loads of other things to do. Like cheering. Wait until you hear the cheers the girls have learnt."

He was grinning at this point. Talking about the girls and their enthusiasm for the sport always made him grin, no matter who he talked to. And getting people to understand that it wasn't about training up new players but getting kids excited about the sport in general was always his top priority. He'd always been on the sidelines when it came to quidditch. Always cheering as loud as he could even if he didn't play. Everyone was important in that regard.

"I don't understand you," Millicent said, lifting up the box of practice equipment and carrying it to the storage shed. "Why haven't you asked me about school?"

He shrugged. "Do you want me to?"

"No," she said, voice clipped, waiting until he'd opened the shed before she passed off the box. "But it's usually the first question. _Why were you so awful? Was it low self-esteem because of your size? Why didn't you stay and fight? You could have stayed and fought._ "

She looked at him, almost daring him to ask all those questions. Neville finished putting away the supplies and then locked the door. The questions had run through his head during the practice. He'd wondered a lot about her and why she was there. The biggest question he had was that of all the things a wealthy pureblood witch could do, why would she pick volunteering with a kids quidditch team? But asking them felt rude somehow.

And his gran had taught him better than that.

Her size, however, hadn't ever really registered. Millicent Bulstrode had always been what everyone had called a solid girl. There was nothing waif-like about her appearance and she certainly didn't look like a strong day's work would be the end of her. With broad shoulders, strong jawline and above average height, she broke the mold of the 'typical pureblood Slytherin girl' and Neville remembered her being talked about in disparaging terms during school.

"Tell you what," he said after a long moment. "I won't bring up your behaviour in school if you don't bring up the snake, my skills at potions or my first broom practice."

If he hadn't been looking right at her, he would have missed it. As it was, Neville wasn't even sure that what he'd seen hadn't been just a trick of the light. But he absolutely, hands down, would swear on a stack of bibles that Millicent Bulstrode had just smiled at what he'd said. It was brief. It certainly didn't show any teeth. She didn't laugh. But he'd seen that twitch of the lips and there had been this brief softening in her expression.

Sharing a smile with Millicent was something he had never expected would happen.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and started to turn. "I gotta go."

"Will we see you next Saturday?" he asked.

"Maybe."

*@*@*

It continued much in the same way. Neville didn't know if she was going to show up until she was there. Sometimes she got to the pitch before he did and sometimes not until the girls had started to arrive. He would admit it was a little frustrating to not have a definite yes from her, but he took it as he got it. She was there, she helped with the team, she was generally pleasant to him and the Daisies were happy to have her around. And it seemed as though she was enjoying herself as far as he could tell.

He'd even caught her mouthing the words to one of the cheers.

"I'd call the parents if I were you," she said one Saturday.

Neville looked over at her and noticed she was watching the sky furiously, pointing toward some dark clouds. Normally everything was rain or shine, but the air had been sticky with humidity all day and he couldn't imagine the rain this time would be at all pleasant. When he pulled out his wand, he thought he saw Millicent flinch, but shook away the feeling when she went over to collect the girls as the first rumbles of thunder started to be heard.

Touching the tip of his wand to the band on his wrist, he sent a message to all parents to come and collect the girls. It was an ingenious bit of spellwork that, when families started to arrive almost immediately, Neville made a note to thank Hermione.

It took maybe fifteen minutes to clear the field and hurriedly put away all the equipment and when he snapped the lock shut on the shed door, the rain started to sheet down on them. With a sigh, Neville looked up at the dark sky. He didn't like calling practice on account of rain, but small children and thunderstorms weren't exactly the best mix. When he looked back down, he realised that Millicent was on the other side of the pitch, walking through the downpour and heading for the gate. He jogged to catch up.

"You don't have to wait until you're outside of the pitch to apparate," he called out over a particularly loud rumble.

"I'm _fine_ ," she said grouchily, arms wrapped around herself and kept walking. Neville had to pick up his pace to keep in step with her.

"But I don't get why…." He stopped. Both talking and walking. If it hadn't been dark and pouring rain, he would have felt like the clouds had parted and a bright light had appeared over his head. She never used her wand. He never saw her arrive at or leave from the pitch out of thin air. Always through the gate. Always walking. "Oh."

She wheeled around. "That’s right, Longbottom. _Oh_. Bulstrode doesn't have a wand right now because her father was a horrible man who did horrible things and managed to get himself killed so that he wouldn't have to take the blame for all those horrible things. So in order to get a measly letter of reference so that I might be able to get a decent job somewhere because _no one_ will hire a death eater's daughter, let alone a fat one, I take the bus to the train station in the village." She swiped angrily at a drop of water hanging off the end of her nose, daring him to speak.

He took that dare.

"I'm on my way to London to get some paperwork settled with Magical Games and Sports." He held out his hand. "I assume you're still allowed to Floo, yeah? Seeing as it's on my way..."

She pushed the wet hair off her face and sent a look toward the country bus stop that was on the Muggle side of the field wards. He could only imagine what she was thinking, especially considering there was no shelter and the rain seemed to pick up on that, coming down in heavier sheets than before. A loud crack of thunder rattled the gate and Neville saw her wince at the sound, the first time noticing how nervous she looked, hands clenched into fists, knuckles white.

"I'd rather not leave you here by yourself," he said. "It would make me a really shitty person."

There was another moment where he thought she might decline the offer, but then she reached out and touched his outstretched hand. A moment later they were standing, rather soggily and dripping, in the middle of the Ministry atrium. Millicent let go of him as if she'd been burned and tucked her hands under her arms. A few witches and wizards walked by, recognising him and raising their eyebrows at her.

"You shouldn't be so nice to people," she said after a moment, looking around warily and almost trying to make herself look smaller and less noticeable.

"Why's that?" Neville said, casting drying charms on his clothing.

"Lots of people take advantage of you when you're nice to them," she replied and then spun on her heel and squelched off to the Floo lines before Neville could stop her.

*@*@*

Thunderstorms continued off and on for another week, the game with the Essex Eagles getting cancelled on account of the weather. Quidditch didn't normally answer to Mother Nature, but it was just easier than having to deal with an even larger group of scared, wet children. Soon the weather system blew out to the Atlantic. Practices and games could be held again. The makeup game with the Eagles was rescheduled for the second Saturday in July.

"Mister Neville?"

It was the middle of practice and Neville glanced up from his playbook to see Izzy holding out her arm, grieve laces all askew. His brow furrowed and he set the book aside. "Izzy, you were doing so well. I haven't had to fix these in weeks," he said with a smile, crouching down with his wand.

"Miss Millie was showing me how to lace them proper, but she's not here. I tried to do it the way I'm a-posed to, but I can't remember all the steps like I did last week. I'm sorry." Her lip wobbled a little.

Neville tried to hide his disappointment. After that day in the rain, he'd not heard a word from Millicent. She'd not owled him back and he'd not exactly expected her to, but there'd always been that hope. When she'd not shown up last Saturday, he'd thought it was just a misunderstanding about the days and resuming practice after the weather had improved. Then she'd not shown up this week either.

He didn't want to think that she'd just up and quit, but he had nothing else to go on.

Giving his wand a bit of a wave, the laces did themselves up. He sent Izzy back over to the team and had each of them have a go at batting away the bludgers. They did alright and the girls were certainly improving from how they'd been at the beginning of May, but it was a bit difficult to keep track of the whole team. By the time it was over, Neville was out of sorts and once the last girl had left with her family, he quickly gathered up the supplies and shoved it all in the shed without trying to sort through it all.

Her address was scribbled in the front of his playbook and before he knew it, Neville was standing on her front step, thumping his fist against her door.

To his surprise, Millicent was the one who answered. For a moment, Neville's irritation wavered, but then he remembered how sad Izzy had looked and how tired he was and that they had a game to work towards and that she'd been there and then she hadn't.

"You are not allowed to do this!" He pointed off behind him at some nondescript location. Before she could respond, he plowed onward. "You are not allowed to abandon all those girls just because you don't have a wand and I know about you taking the bus. I don't care if you have some sort of 'grouchy-mad at the world-Slytherin' persona to live up to. You made a promise."

She frowned at him. "I didn't--"

"No. No, you don't come every single week for a month and a half and then just bugger off. You didn't say as much, but coming every week was the same thing as promising to be there for those girls."

"They don't need me," she said, stepping out onto the front step, closing the door behind her.

"That is the silliest thing I have ever heard! Especially from someone who has spent six weeks trying to show a little girl how to tie her uniform up without magic. And especially from someone who has been working hard to get them to learn that arrowhead play that Slytherin house used to use. How on earth can you think that?" he asked, baffled.

"Because _no one_ needs my help!" Millicent's cheeks were pink. "Do you know how long I looked for a job? No one needed me. All the other Slytherins were too busy trying to repair their own images and no one needed my help. No one wanted my help. Even you... sure you said I could stay, but wasn't I just there to be an extra person? Pick up a few cones every now and then? You have your wand, Longbottom; cleanup would have been easy without me."

Neville was torn between wanting to storm off and wanting to grab her by the upper arms and shake her. How was it that she couldn't see how much the girls liked having her around? They were constantly asking about her. Millicent was the first person they went to when they slipped on the field and skinned their knees. How could she not see how the Daisies paid attention to her when she talked about quidditch strategy or how to take advantage when the play provided the opportunity?

Then it hit him.

"I need you," he said.

Millicent let out a derisive, disbelieving snort.

"Hear me out," he said, holding up his hand. "I need you. I didn't even realise just how much I needed you until you weren't around. Millicent, I like having you around. I get to look at the game in a different way when you're there to help. I don't want you around just for the girls or for the cleanup. I want you around for me. Because despite everything, you're not a bad person when you let your guard down."

She went silent and looked down at the ground. Neville stood there waiting for her to respond, but it seemed like she wasn't going to. With a sigh, he turned and stepped down off the stair, supposing that it was better to just make his exit. He could come up with something to tell the team. He didn't want to, but it looked like he didn't have any choice in the matter. So shoving his hands in his pockets, he started to walk away.

"Practice is the same time next Saturday?" she asked.

Neville stopped and looked back at her, eyebrows raised. "Always, yeah."

"Alright then." She ran her fingers through her dark hair. "They can't learn the arrowhead play properly from you anyhow."

He couldn't stop himself from laughing.

*@*@*

True to her word, or whatever word she really gave because Neville found that Millicent didn't usually commit to something verbally, she came to practice. Things went back to relatively normal after that. Practices came and went. Games came and went. The Daisies became this almost Tasmanian Devil force of nature, winning games and becoming this fierce little crew. Summer came to a close and older kids went off to Hogwarts, the younger players still staying on to finish up the season.

At the end of September, before the weather got cooler, the two top teams had a final match.

The Daisies were up against the Orkney Otters. The Otters were a little bit older, but Neville had to hand it to Millicent because after all the practices and games, she had the girls working like a tiny, oiled machine. He'd slowly eased himself out of the role as head coach over the weeks and let her take more and more control. Watching her work with the girls was really quite amazing. She was entirely different with them than she was with anyone else.

He watched Millicent for a moment as she helped Izzy into her uniform, giving the rest of the girls a before-game pep talk that would have put Oliver Wood to shame.

With a smile, he backed out of the locker room and into the corridor, waiting for the referee to come by and tell them it was time to go onto the field.

"Neville Longbottom!" A sharp voice spoke from the doorway. Neville groaned and batted away the acid-green quick quotes quill.

"Now's not the time, Ms Skeeter. I don't want you making the girls anxious with your version of an interview."

"Nonsense," Rita sauntered down the hallway, hips swinging and brassy blonde curls bouncing around her head. She pushed her glasses up into her hair and waved her hand at the quill. "My abilities to interview are just as good as they ever were. But I'm not here to speak to your charming Daisies. I'm here to talk to you."

He blinked and took a step back as the quill pointed menacingly (well, as menacingly as a quill could point) at him. An interview at this point in the day was terribly strange, to him. Why not wait until after the game was over, picking the winning team to talk to. But he didn't ask the question outright because his tongue had tied itself up in knots as he watched her conjure up a rather fancy looking stool to sit on, her long legs crossing.

"I want to know about the Death Eater's daughter you've got working with you." The quill scratched a few opening lines and Rita tilted her head. "What made you decide to allow her to interact with all these impressionable girls? Do the parents know?"

Swearing under his breath, which caused Rita to wave at the quill so it wouldn't quote him, Neville looked toward the locker room door. "Millicent is a _volunteer_ with this team and is one of its biggest supporters. My girls' parents are fine with her working--"

"So you're on a first name basis with Millicent Bulstrode?" Rita interrupted and leaned forward. "Considering what those with whom her father was affiliated did to your parents, colour me surprised."

"That has no bearing on--"

"Did she beg for forgiveness?"

Neville felt his hackles raise and he looked over at the quill scribbling away furiously. He could picture the article now. Just as outlandish as those that Skeeter had written about Harry. Poor Hermione had to battle the rumours for ages after that one about her came out during the tournament. With a scowl, Neville pulled out his wand. He didn't even realise he'd cast the spell until the notebook and quill went up in a burst of flame. Rita squealed and batted the ashes away from her hair.

"What on earth are you trying to do?!" she batted away a bit of floating feather, still curling and smouldering. 

"Get out, Skeeter. You're not welcome or wanted. Millicent Bulstrode is a member of this team and is important to each and every one of those girls. None of them judge her for her parents or for what she might have done in school. People change." He paused and looked at her with a scowl. "Maybe not you. But I won't have you painting her as some kind of monster when she's done everything in her power to be a good coach and a great volunteer! So get out. Go darken someone else's doorstep for a change because I'm not going to give you crazy answers to make someone feel worse for their upbringing. We're trying to move beyond that these days, Skeeter." He pointed the way she'd come in. "Leave."

The older woman gaped at him for a moment. Then she huffed angrily, spinning around and stomped out of the building, her heels making angry clacks on the tile floor.

"Out to the field, Daisies." Millicent's voice spoke from behind him and the team, carrying their small brooms, started to file out toward the exit Rita had just used. She ushered the girls off, telling them to line up the way they'd been shown. She then came back to Neville.

"Reporters, right?"

Millicent didn't say anything. Instead she stepped right up to him and put her hand on his shoulder, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. Her lips felt warm and soft against his skin. If he'd been a more debonair and suave fellow, he would have turned his head and changed that soft, innocent kiss into something more. But his entire body froze. He was scared that if he tried anything else it might break whatever spell had descended.

"You're too soft and kind," she said with a bit of a smile and Neville started to realise just how much he liked that hidden and secret sort of smile. 

He took a chance and slid his hand into hers, curling his fingers. "I thought that display was a bit strong and manly, to be honest."

"When it comes to me... stop being so nice. People are going to take advantage of you." She squeezed his hand.

"Maybe I'm alright with some people taking advantage," he replied and, without letting go of her hand, he gestured towards the exit. "C'mon. We have a trophy to win."

**End**


End file.
